The color of frustration

The weather has done me in. It has been raining for days and now the wet ground is covered with snow. Again.

Nothing nice comes to my mind. I feel like a giant thumb is pressing on my forehead. Or, as my daughter aptly described, like an anvil is weighing on my shoulders.

For some reason, I'm reminded of a day when I was very young. I had a big, red coloring book. In fact, I think the words on the front actually said, "My Big Red Coloring Book."

If my memory serves me correctly, my mother told me I had to get a shot.  I turned to a page in the book that featured a simple picture of a shirt. That's all it was. A shirt.

I took my red crayon and pressed as hard as I could and wildly scribbled back and forth across the page paying no attention to the outline of the shirt. While I can't say for sure, I think I broke the crayon.

That is how I feel today. I need a coloring book.

A bad picture of a shirt with scribble. Not nearly as satisfying as a crayon.

A slightly better etch of the fire place turned on due to cold on March 30.